


In Hora Mortis Nostrae

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A lot of pain for Stiles at first, Characters deaths, Eventual Supernatural Crossover, F/F, F/M, Half-demon Stiles, M/M, Magic Stiles, Slow Build, Tags to added as stories goes on, and more than I would like, discontinued, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:22:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Przemysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski knew that he wasn’t exactly human from a young age.'</p><p>Nobody had ever said being born a half-demon into the world and growing up as one would ever be easy. Stiles Stilinski is determined to survive however, even if it means he has to learn how to master his powers, learn magic, face ghosts, ghouls and creatures, deal with his inner demons and go a little dark-side himself from time to time. Not to mention tangle with an annoying pairof brothers, the local wolf pack of his home town (including one particularly interested werewolf) and his demon daddy. </p><p>And if he's going through all of this, he has to have a happy ending in the end. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first making a multi-chaptered fic on Archive of our Own. I just thought it would be nice to make a fic like this and I have immensely enjoyed writing it. I can't make any promises on regular updates though. I will have a lot on my plate. Enjoy the Sterek, readers! And don't forget to drop your reviews at the bottom. 
> 
> Thank Alex for beta-ing this chapter or otherwise it would be LITTERED in grammar and spelling mistakes.

 

Przemysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski knew that he wasn’t exactly human from a young age. His mother knew as well. His father didn’t and it would stay that way. It was an unspoken agreement between Przemysław and Claudia Stilinski that Deputy John Stilinski would be kept in the dark about what the mother and son would be involved in. Stiles tried to ignore the uneasy feeling at the back of his head and the sickness in his gut whenever he looked his father in the eye and lied but it was a necessary evil.

He learnt to quickly lie and hide his emotions underneath humour and wit, fooling everyone into thinking that he was a normal human child with ADHD and a big mouth. It was almost scary how easy it came to him. He knew that it was the other side of himself that was the cause of this talent.

The other side of Stiles was scary. It wanted to do horrible things, say hurtful words that cut like a chainsaw and a knife at the same time, to be something feared by everyone. Luckily, Stiles had something that kept him human, something that managed to pull him back.

It was his mother, Claudia Stilinski, the most beautiful woman in the world and to her son she was like an angel come down from Earth. Of course, it was ironic that a thing like Stiles would have a mother like Claudia. She believed in selflessness, bravery and kindness in the world, the type of woman who would see good in anything. Even in her own son who was half-demon.

Stiles was a complete mama’s boy and had a bit of an Oepedius complex.

His father was never home much, making it easier to lie and spend more time with his mother. Sometimes in the middle of the night when Stiles had dreams of burning red fire and screamed, his mom would wake him up and save him. They would go all around town, hand in hand, seeing what it had to offer and if they got bored, they would take a road trip. Stiles loved the road trips.

It was the road trip on the way back from seeing the Grand Canyon that Stiles’ powers made their first appearance prominently. They were always there. Whenever he got angry, any place with fire would have their flame intensify and the place would get darker.

They were walking back to their motel from a late night visit to the nearest convenience store when a dark bulky man jumped out of the shadows and held a gun at them.

“Give me your money!” he barked at them. Stiles’ insides went cold in shock while his heartbeat raced and there was something hot in his hands. Claudia’s face was a mask of cool and calm which inspired Stiles not to cry out in fear like other kids would do in situations like these. “Now!”

Claudia’s hand went slowly to her handbag. The man pushed the gun to her head, his index finger close to the trigger and Stiles went berserk. He jumped out from his mother’s side, ignoring his mother’s scream, and pushed his hands on the leg of the mugger. The next thing Stiles knew was … _fire_. Burning bright beautiful flames consuming the man, eating him alive. It only lasted for a second before Stiles snapped himself out of it and the flames died away, leaving only the charred remains of a man.

His mother’s jacket was wrapped around him and he was picked up in Claudia’s arms, running quickly away, face in her shoulder so he couldn’t see her expression. As she ran, the figure of the burned man became smaller and smaller and the realization of what Stiles had done hit him once they were in their motel room: he had just killed someone.

Claudia placed him on the bathroom floor, hurrying over to run a cold bath. When she was finished, she picked up Stiles again, taking him to the bathroom and dropped him in the tub. Stiles cried at the iciness of the water but soon saw steam coming off him.

“Mommy …” he said, voice full of fear. “Am I a monster?”

“No,” she replied at once, holding his head tenderly in her hands. “You’re not a monster … You’re my son and you are definitely not a _monster_.”

“But, Mom,” he protested. “I’m … I’m half-demon … I’m half … I just killed someone …”

Claudia could offer no answer to that. All she did was pull Stiles close to her chest and hold him tightly. Stiles leaned in, shaking all over, full of fear. Fear for his mother, fear of the thing inside him, fear of what he could do. Stiles didn’t cry. Oddly enough, he couldn’t cry, it must have been the shock. All that could be heard between them was the sound of their breathing mixing together and guilt, shame and fear screaming out of the back of Stiles’ head.

Claudia and Stiles went back to Beacon Hills with not much said between them and the silence played for too long. They told John that the trip was great and awesome and couldn’t wait until John could finally join them on a road trip even he never would. Claudia held Stiles close to her chest more often when he slept in her bed, allowing him to hear the beating of her human heart.

Stiles had terrible nightmares, causing him to wake up screaming. His mom was there to comfort him and he told her he kept dreaming about the man he burned to death, that he dreamt about burning whole cities, killing everyone.

“Mom,” he asked one night in her bedroom when his dad was working late at the station. His nightmare had gotten really bad this time. He dreamt that he was in a flaming ocean of monsters that were trying to drown him, claws and scales brushing up at him everywhere to drown him, chanting _Prince of Hellfire, Prince of Hellfire, PRINCE OF HELLFIRE!_ “Why – why didn’t you kill  me when I was a baby when you found out I was half-demon?”

His mother sighed heavily, stroking her son’s hair. “You are my son. I could never kill my own son. Besides when I first saw you and held you in my arms I thought that no matter what, I would always protect my son.”

“So you love me?” he asked.

“Of course I do, silly.” And she kissed the top of his head.

Stiles came home one day five months after he asked that question to find his bedroom window open and a box sitting on his window sill. Stiles quickly caught the scent of brimstone and hellfire. Stiles cautiously approached the box, not making a noise. It was a little talent of his; to be able to act like a shadow. He could actually become one if he wanted to if he concentrated really hard.

Stiles picked the box off the still and placed it on his bed. It was a big red cardboard box covered in dusty scorch marks and burns, topped off with a fluffy black ribbon. There was a card on top of the box that had the words of _Happy First Murder_ and the well-drawn sketch of a man on fire. Stiles tensed. He was sure no one had found out about that – ever. Stiles took the card and opened it, reading what was inside:

_To Przemysław, my son,_

_I heard you killed your first human, reducing him to charcoal with your hellfire._

_I am so proud of you and can’t wait for you to join me back home. Consider this to be your present for committing your first act of major sin._

_~ Dad_

Stiles dropped the card on the ground. His father – his demon father – knew where he was. He knew that he existed. Stiles’ demon half was ecstatic. Stiles’ human half was scared shitless. Stiles looked back to the ominous red box. He pondered whether or not if he should open it. There could be _anything_ inside that thing. What would a demon father even send his _human_ son?

Stiles wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

 _Curse you, Stiles,_ something inside him snapped harshly. _Are you a coward? Are you scared of a little box? What’s the harm in opening it?_

Stiles wasn’t a coward. Whatever scary thing was thrown at him, he was scarier! Stiles ripped the ribbon off and pulled the lid off, looking inside to see –

A cat.

Well, it was sort of a cat. It was the size of a harmless kitten. The kitten had black silky fur, its _two_ (!) tails oddly fluffy and looking like an untidy feather, with patches of grey on its chest fur and pointy ears. The kitten peered up at Stiles curiously. Stiles stared back.

 _“Meow?”_ it innocently meowed. The kitten leapt out of the box to Stiles. Stiles stumbled back a bit; the kitten was unexpectedly heavy. The demon cat wrapped itself around his shoulders and snuggled close as if Stiles was a source of heat. Stiles tried to get the cat away from him but the feline yowled and clawed at Stiles each time. Not fun.

Uneasily, Stiles sat beside the bed, studying the note on the ground. _I am so proud of you …_ His father was proud that he killed someone. How would a father be proud of Stiles for killing someone? Stiles didn’t want to see his father’s reaction if he ever knew. He was a deputy, a man of righteous justice and judgement, a soldier of the law.

The cat licked him, drawing Stiles away from his thoughts. “Are you evil?”

It – _she_ , definitely a she – mewed back. Stiles wasn’t sure if said ‘yes’ or ‘no’. She detached herself from her shoulders and crawled down to his lap.

“Okay, Miss Demon Kitty, I guess you want a proper name then,” Stiles said. “Miss Kitty?” the cat growled. “I guess not. I guess you’re a sort of a dramatic but adorable demon cat anyway. Snowflake?” Another growl. “Snow White?” The cat looked close to clawing Stiles’ eyes out. “Fine, how about … Chessie? You know, after the Cheshire Cat.”

The cat stared at Stiles, considering the name. It broke out in a huge toothy grin and nuzzled against Stiles’ chest. Stiles rubbed the back of the kitten’s head back and sighed. He just had a pet given to him by his inhuman demon father.

“Stiles,” his mom announced her presence, walking into her son’s bedroom. “What –” She stopped suddenly at the sight of the cat. Her face formed a scowl. “Did your other _he_ give you _that_?”

“Um … yes. Her name’s Chessie like the Cheshire Cat and she’s really cute! See?” Stiles held the cat up and beamed like he was showing his point. “Mom, can we please keep her? I promise she won’t misbehave. And … and …” Stiles swallowed and nervously pointed to the note on the ground with his eyes.

His mom went over and picked up the note. She read so sharply, so murderously, so ferociously that she crumpled it into a tiny paper ball and threw it out the window. She left without saying another word, causing Stiles and the kitten jolt when she slammed the door.

_Consider this to be your present for committing your first act of major sin …_

Stiles nervously chewed on his bottom lip. There was a small part of Stiles between human and demon halves that didn’t regret killing that man. After all, the man had tried to kill his mother first.

_As if that justifies murder._

**_. . . . ._ **

It was overwhelming.

Stiles didn’t know how to stop it. On his first day of school, his powers prominently appeared again in the form of agonising torture. His senses were going haywire. He could hear everything from Jackson calling him names like ‘dork’ and ‘dweeb’ behind his back because his parents weren’t his real parents to the electricity surging through the wires in the school. The smelling was worse. Much worse. He could smell every scent within fifty meters and it sucked! He didn’t want to smell the sweaty bodies or the farts! His super sight was a cakewalk compared to the last two. It didn’t bother that much until he could see every detail in the room.

Stiles wanted to go berserk, to take his frustration on the other kids –especially Jackson –and let everything burn. “What a freak!” he heard them say. “Look at him. He’s so skinny. Oh look at he’s wearing! It’s so ugly.” Stiles hugged himself tighter and tried to ignore them and the sensory overload.

In the middle of lunch, Stiles escaped school to go someplace quiet. It wasn’t that hard. All he just had to was stick to the shadows, climb over the fence, pick a direction and run.

That was how he ended up inside the old abandoned train station underground. It was unsafe but it was quiet and secluded. Hardly anybody used it. The sensory attack lessened in here but he could still hear, smell and see things he shouldn’t. This place was better than school at any rate. It must have been about four when Mom was supposed to be picking him up.

“I’m over here Chessie,” he announced to the darkness.

Fifteen minutes later his mom showed up with the cat. She seemed paler than usual, dark spots under her dull grey eyes, skinner and her hair was stringier. Stiles could smell the sulphuric sickness on her from where he was inside the box car.

“Well, it seems like keeping the goddamned cat was good for something,” his mom said, stepping inside the boxcar and sat beside her son on the upholstered leather chair seats.  Chessie curled up in Stiles’ lap and decided to go to sleep. “What’s bothering you?”

Stiles fondly stroked Chessie’s fur. “I … my demon senses … they just went out of control. Everybody was making fun of me behind my back,” he answered in a small voice. “I don’t wanna go back to school. I kept talking ‘cause I’m nervous and – and – and I can’t keep still and – what if I screw up and kill someone again?”

“You won’t, honey,” she assured, rubbing her back. “You won’t. I should have made sure to train your senses first before I sent you to school.”

“You talk … You talk like you know exactly know what I am …”

“I used to be somebody else in another time,” she confessed. “You’re too young to understand but when you’re older and when you have your powers under control, you’ll understand.”

“Okay,” Stiles murmured softly. He thought if he pressed the issue that his mom would get angry with him like she did when she found the note from Stiles’ real father on the floor. Stiles didn’t want to see her like that. “I can smell antiseptic and sickness on you,” he changed the topic. “Did you go to the hospital?”

Her heartbeat picked up. Stiles could see the sweat forming on her skin.

“Are you ill?” he asked.

“Yeah. Pretty sick.”

“What?!” Stiles gasped, shocked. He bit down on his lip. “On a scale of one to … ten … how bad do you think … how bad is it?”

“Eleven,” she said without a moment’s hesitation. Sometimes his mother could be blunt with her words. Most of the time she gave stuff like how it was. “Wait, sorry, fifteen. I don’t have a lot of time.”

Stiles should have known. He took in a heavy inhalation of dusty air, leaning close to his mother. He should have known. Not all things beautiful like his mother could last forever. It was the cycle of life: you’re born, you live and then you _die_.

. . . . . . .

Seeing his mom slip away was one of the hardest things Stiles had to endure in his life so far. Half the time he was having sensory attacks and the other half he felt like he couldn’t breathe easily or not at all. Stiles was learning to control all of his scents, starting slow –tortuously _slow_ –, beginning with trying to block the noises and smells and then turning on his super senses when he wanted to. Once he knew how to be in control, it was actually pretty cool.

His super strength and speed also kicked in to make his childhood more of a hell than it already was.  If he wasn’t careful, he would break the door handle or run so fast he would tackle people.

Every time Stiles saw his mom, it was like a punch to the gut. She had enough trouble walking and trouble, and what with everything else, she got so bad she had to be moved to the hospital. The scent of death was growing stronger each day and Stiles could do nothing about it. He _hated_ it. The sense of helplessness. The state of being weak to the inevitability of fate. Still, he wanted to be strong for his mom. He smiled and laughed and told stories about his day.

“How’s your friend Scott?”

She was sitting up on the hospital bed, Stiles and Chessie who seemed to stick to Stiles’ side except for school on the edge of the mattress. Pets weren’t allowed in hospitals. Somehow that rule didn’t apply to the _cat sídhe._ His mom took out one of the books Stiles wasn’t allowed to read – they were old magic and Stiles was too young for stuff like that according to Claudia – and opened up to a page that showed a cat identical to Chessie. He couldn’t read the words – it was Gaelic – however his mom did read it out for him.

Stiles sensed a sharp yet sweet sensation in the air. Pain. Stiles could feel his mother’s pain, her suffering from the sickness.

She was suffering because of him. Most mothers who give birth to half-demons, he read in a book that his mom tried to keep hidden from him in her room, didn’t survive. Those who did would slowly die. If Claudia had never been impregnated with Stiles then she would not be suffering now. Stiles was guilty, ashamed and sick to know that _he_ was the cause of all of this. That his mom giving birth to a monster like him was making her sick.

“He’s fine,” Stiles replied. “He’s been hanging out with Isaac a lot lately who always come to school with bruises on his face and arms. He keeps saying it was accident or he fell but I know he’s lying. So I got curious and …”

“And …?”

“I told Dad that I was going to Scott’s for the night,” Stiles informed her. “When really I was stalking Isaac. Yes, I was stalking. I had the whole creeper face and all. I didn’t go inside his house but I could hear it. I could hear it all. Isaac’s dad is beating Isaac up. I wanted to – I wanted to save Isaac, I wanted to burn Mr Lahey alive like I did with the other guy. But I didn’t.”

“Sweetie,” his mom said. “I know that you’re worried for Isaac. You’re going to have to come up with something and get your dad to save Isaac. _Don’t_ hurt Mr Lahey. If you do, things are just going to get worse.”

“Okay, Mom,” he obeyed. “I also … it’s hard to see you like this,” he admitted. “I … can quite literally feel your pain and I read one of your books and – this is all my fault. If I never lived then this wouldn’t be happening!”

His mom’s face hardened. “Przemysław Ezra Stilinski, my cancer is not your fault.” It was almost frightening the way her voice was: forceful and hurtful but out of maternal love. “Don’t go to your … you know who … about this. Any deal with a demon never works out well. Keep your humanity but never forget what you have to hide every day.”

Stiles gripped the bed sheets. _I know!_ Stiles had researched demons on the internet. He had found most of his mother’s forbidden books. He had watched the movies that were too old for him and saw the scary books the subject of demons had provided. He was the bad guy.

He also had to be independent. Not only was his mother wilting away so was his dad, Deputy Stilinski, whose eyes were often red, hair often uncombed nowadays, wearing his clothing crumpled and getting thinner because of the situation. Stiles had to tell his dad to eat and sleep to make sure he was properly functioning.

And soon his mother was going to die.

It was unfair how he had to battle these sorts of demons at age of six. He figured everybody needed to grow up eventually. Stiles was just getting a head start.

“Um, Stiles,” his mom said.

“Yeah?”

“You’re kind of on fire, sweetie.”

Stiles looked at his reflection in a mirror on the wall and screamed. His left side of his cheek had tendrils of fire lighted on the skin creating a curve under his eye. Another flame like the other formed on his other cheek. And his eyes. He was sure it wasn’t his imagination. The amber brown of his irises had faded into a lifeless dark black. He started to swat his place and focused on the happy memories of him and his mother together.

He remember his mother holding him in her arms and lifting up and down in his bedroom, her reading him Little Red Riding Hood, her bright smile. The happy memory process worked because he was back to human soon enough. No trace of fire or black was visible on him.

The next thing he knew, his mom was patting his hair. She had pushed herself forwards, moving when the doctor had clearly expressed not to. “Good … work … sweetie,” she congratulated him. “You managed … to … pull yourself back … Means I won’t have to worry so much.”

“Mom?” The room was now reeking of death. _No. No. nononononono! NO!_ There was a shift in the air, a spike in the amount of pain she was suffering, something that Stiles didn’t want to sense. Claudia fell back on the bed, her breathing shallow and her face contorted in something that could be called agony. Stiles got off the bed. Chessie didn’t expect this and landed roughly on the floor, hissing. Stiles didn’t care his mom was dying. “DOCTOR! SOMEBODY HELP! PLEASE, anybody …”

The doctor came in and quickly followed by nurses who took Stiles out of the room. Chessie quickly made her escape, jumping out the open window. Soon enough he was out of the room and the door was slammed in his face.

His mom was going to die.

**. . . . . .**

Stiles was six and three-quarters when his mom, Claudia Stilinski, died.

Almost everybody attended the funeral. Who wouldn’t for the beloved school teacher? Claudia was a freaking angel that God took away! No, it wasn’t God. It wasn’t God at all.

It was a thing of death, blood and Hell. It was Stiles. It was her son. Rage and anger burned through his veins. Stiles had no one to blame except himself. If he had never been born then none of this would have happened. If his mom had never been impregnated by a demon, her death could have been avoided.

Stiles struggled to keep the demonic flames inside of him. A single misstep would have resulted in him being run out of the town. Stiles discovered what there was a name for creatures, being able to sense pain and other negative emotions – psychic vampirism. Way to be even more of a monster, Stiles. He was an emotional leech.

Monster.

Thing.

Abomination.

_Demon …_

Stiles was silent, not daring to look at anyone and kept his face a passive mask. If he did look at anyone, the guilt in his heart would only grow. He felt ashamed, like a guilty murderer. He _was_ a murderer. First he killed that man. Now his own mother.

The funeral ended and everybody was leaving. A few people spoke to Stiles. During the service, he wasn’t by his father’s side as people would expect. He had to be strong. He had to stop clinging to adults whenever he was hurting inside. He stood, tall and straight. It was his father who was the hurt one in this. Alcohol had become his best friend ever since his mom died.

There was the possibility of Deputy John Stilinski turning and spiralling into a depression.

“Stiles?” his dad called out. Stiles stood a few feet from the grave marker. _Claudia Stilinski: beloved mother, wife and friend. May God take you in his wings._ Stiles had never been overly anti-God but those words made Stiles wanted to smash the damn thing and rewrite himself. Maybe something a little more meaningful. “Stiles, come on, let’s go home.”

Stiles pulled in a breath and faced his father. _Murderer, liar, monster, demon!_ Those words seemed to run in his head.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” he responded calmly. Stiles had even surprised himself. “I’ll be fine. You go home and spend some time grieving. ‘Kay? And drive safely too. I’ll drive home with Scott.”

The deputy licked his lips and nodded, walking away from his son. He needed to grieve before he could look after his only son. Stiles watched as his father got into his patrol car and drove away.

Stiles looked back to his mother’s gravestone. He will be the son who will remember to hide the demon inside him. He will be the boy she would want him to be. But for now, he’s selfish.

He went back to the abandoned train station and cried and cried and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore.

. . . .  .

The underground train station became Stiles’ official hang-out. As a half-demon, he was able to clean it up, a distraction he needed from grief, and changed to his specifications. Once you get past the dangerous equipment and the dust that had been cleared out, it was actually cool to be in for a while. A bedroom wasn’t cutting it for Stiles. His father would have found anything in there. All the forbidden books and whatever _strange_ item he found he stored down at the Den which he came to call it.

Stiles’ father had turned into a grieving alcoholic, taking time off work and drinking more. He doesn’t even look at Stiles and the young boy got the impression that he didn’t want to. Stiles felt the same way. He cooked breakfast and lunch in the morning for his dad and made dinner when he got home. After dinner was eaten, Stiles would leave through the window and scurry off to the Den.

Stiles had taken up Latin, both modern and Archaic, to try and read some of the forbidden books. English is now somewhat of a breeze for him now. What’s awesome about Archaic and modern Latin lessons is that he got to spend with Lydia, a fiery strawberry blonde girl that had spirit and an incredible mind to match. Stiles doesn’t know what to say to her so instead when the teacher isn’t looking, he scribbled something in English and nudged her to read it. It was convenient that he sat next to her every lesson.

His first message was: _I don’t like modern Latin. It’s getting boring._

Lydia read it carefully before writing something back in her notebook. _I’m dropping ordinary Latin. I’m already bored._

Stiles laughed –the first time he has in a while–, earning him a glare from his teacher. He did feel a little out of place, sitting in a classroom full of kids that were older than him and Lydia.

 _You’re a beautiful genius,_ he wrote down. _Would you go out with me?_

It was an instant _I’d rather lick frogs and walk around naked than ever go out with you._

It was an advanced insult for a seven-year-old. Stiles decided that he liked Lydia a lot and they soon become friends, only in Latin however. In school, she avoided him and acted like he didn’t exist.

Stiles didn’t forget about Isaac though. He still had a plan.

. . . . . .  .

Stiles gave his dad the whole ‘I’m-having-a-sleepover-with-Scott’ excuse again to not go to dinner and set his plan into motion.

Isaac and Mr Lahey were unaware of the voice recorders Stiles had implanted in the house while they were both out. They hadn’t been hidden long; just before the two got home and had dinner. While Stiles was in the house, he couldn’t help the uneasiness that washed over him. The familiar smell of brimstone and sulphur hanging in the air unnerved Stiles. _Could it? No, it couldn’t be…_ Stiles easily dismissed that suspicion.

Sadly, Scott was tagging along with Stiles for this mission. Once Stiles had let it slip that Isaac was getting beaten up by Mr Lahey, he demanded to be in whatever plan Stiles had set up. This would be a whole lot easier without his trusty sidekick sticking around.

The two boys hid by the side of the house, listening in to the walkie-talkie that Stiles had also put in a walkie-talkie in the house to see if any domestic violence was also going on.

“Maybe they’re just accidents that Isaac is getting into?” Scott whispered to him.

Stiles deadpanned at his friend. “Scott,” he said, clamping a hand over the speaker, “why does a boy like Isaac act scared whenever he sees his father? Can you explain why Isaac is so nervous when he’s explaining his injuries? Do you even know how Isaac got those cigarette burns on his arm?” Stiles came off a bit hostile and icier than he wanted to and Scott immediately blushes and pouted. “Scott, I’m not joking. I’ve seen and heard this happen before. I’m doing something about it _now_.”

And then there is the vicious yell of _“ISAAC!”_ on the walkie-talkie. Scott and Stiles quickly shut up to listen. There’s the sound of plates and glass shattering on the other end.

 _“You damn bastard!”_ Mr Lahey spat through the other line. _“Why? Why the_ fuck _did you have to drop your glass? Eh?”_ Stiles can hear Isaac profusely apologizing before his father cut him off. _“Spare the apologies! Sorry isn’t going to fix that glass and give me back the money I spent on it! Sorry isn’t going to give back your mother! You killed her! You killed her!”_

Stiles was disgusted that Mr Lahey that he was blaming his wife’s death on Isaac. Scott made a move to get up but a quick shove back to the ground and a sharp glare kept him down and from doing so again. Stiles sat through the screaming, the yelling and the punches. Stiles burned with a need to intervene, to do something. It was twice as hard for Scott who looked as though he was crying.

The walkie-talkie fell silent. Stiles used his super hearing to determine that Mr Lahey had locked Isaac up in the freezer down in the basement. He retreated back to the living room, where Stiles caught the scent of drugs and alcohol following.

Stiles turned off the walkie-talkie and shoved back in his . He gestured for Scott to stand up and to give him a boost to the kitchen window. It’s lucky that the Lahey house was only a single storey and that Stiles is able to jimmy the window open. He pushed it outward and crawled in, helping Scott in afterwards.

They’re in the kitchen and the floor was littered with pieces of ceramic plates and glass everywhere on the floor. Stiles glanced back to Scott. “You can leave now, Scott,” he whispered softly.

Scott shook his head. “No way, dude. You’re not leaving me out of this one,” he answered back.

“Do you have your inhaler?” Stiles asked. It’s a bit of a stupid question considering where they were right now however Stiles didn’t want to deal with an asthma attack. Scott pulled his inhaler from his pocket, waved it in his hand and took a puff, stuffing back in his jacket.

Stiles soundlessly made his way across the floor. He wished it were the same case for Scott. Stiles thought a herd of charging elephants would have been quieter. They picked their way through the kitchen, creeping towards the lounge room.

Mr Lahey was drinking and watching a football game with the volume turned up high. Stiles cringed at the smell of beer and the drugs. God, that was enough to put him off drinking for a while. Stiles put his fingers to his lips, silently telling Scott to be quiet, and got a handkerchief and a bottle of chloroform. He quickly dampened the cloth with the liquid and gestured for Scott to stay put.

Stiles crept along a wall and peeked to see Mr Lahey sitting near him, transfixed by the football match with a dazed expression – he was high. Great. Stiles struck out, smashing the handkerchief on Mr Lahey’s mouth and nose, keeping it firmly there while he struggled. Mr Lahey’s body went slack. Stiles listened close for a heartbeat and found one, miraculously.

He was asleep. For now.

Stiles patted the unconscious man down, feeling for keys until he found them in his pocket. When Stiles was leaving voice recorders in the house, he was sure there were locks over the freezer. He left recorders in the basement to inform him so.

“Scott, you can come out now.” Stiles said, voice loud and firm.

Scott meekly appeared and then saw Mr Lahey’s unmoving body. “Dude, did you kill him?” he hissed.

“No,” Stiles replied. “Just knocked him out.” He tossed Scott the keys. “He locked Isaac in the basement inside a freezer. Take a flashlight and go downstairs. I’ll stay up here and watch over Mr Lahey and collect the voice recorders.” When Scott doesn’t and looked at Stiles as if he were a whole different person, Stiles barked, “ _Now!_ ”

Scott scrambled away, heading for the basement. Stiles was left alone with the sleeping Mr Lahey and quickly set to work. He took out a Polaroid camera and started taking pictures of the drugs, alcohol and the kitchen. After that, Stiles managed to find the recording devices easily, stowing them away in his bag. He kept nervously glancing back at Mr Lahey and expected him to wake up and beat the crap out of all of them.

Once Stiles was finished, he checked on the man. Stiles inhaled deeply. Sulphur and brimstone – the scent of a demon. There was something around Mr Lahey now that Stiles had noticed. There was a light shading of a black around the man, almost invisible.

“Oh shit!” he cursed. Mr Lahey was a changeling, a human possessed by a demon.

“Stiles?” Scott had returned. Isaac who resembled a bit of a lost and kicked puppy was holding his hand and Scott didn’t seem to mind. What had Stiles done? He had led his friend into danger.

“You have to run. Take the bag and Isaac and _RUN!_ ” he screamed. Scott jumped at the sudden ferocity of Stiles’ tone. He picked up the bag, slinging it quickly around his back. Scott and Isaac dashed out of the front door.

_“Go –”_

A clawed hand had gripped Stiles’ shirt and threw him to the wall. There was a resounding _crack_ and Stiles thought that he must have put a hole in the wall or something. He slid down to the floor, groaning.

Mr Lahey was standing up, a huge demonic grin on his face. Stiles picked himself up. Crap. My Lahey’s eyes – pupils, irises and the whites – were cold and cruel obsidian black that chilled Stiles to his core. Stiles muttered a prayer in Latin under his breath. He memorised exorcism rites by heart for occasions like this.

“Well, if it isn’t it the Prince of Hellfire?” Mr Lahey’s voice was that of molten rocks cracking together. Stiles was still praying quietly, almost inaudibly. “I guess I should be honoured to have royalty in my house.”

Stiles would have loved to respond in the witty retort but he was busy at the moment, trying to keep his voice steady and keep the pronunciations right. Mr Lahey twitched just the slightest and that was all he needed to know that the exorcism rite was working. Geez, seven years old (he had his birthday a week ago) and he was already facing off against a demon?

“Trying to exorcise me? Oh _– PLEASE!”_ Mr Lahey lunged out at Stiles. Stiles managed to duck at the last moment, claws scratching his arm. He lost the prayer halfway through and cursed. “How are you even sure that prayers would affect you too?”

 _Damn_ , Stiles thought. Stiles tried summoning his fire. No fire came to his fingers or anything. _Come on. Come on!_ He had been able to do it before. Why couldn’t he do it now? He had to the demon distracted.

Stiles was going to use his best talent: talking.

“Why did you possess Mr Lahey?” Stiles inquired steadily, getting to his feet. _There has to be a trigger_. Stiles thought back to the times when he activated his flame. When the mugger held the gun to his mom’s head, Stiles thought she was going to die. If he lost his mother, Stiles didn’t know what he would do. Too bad he already lost her.

“Why the hell not?!” Mr Lahey cried, throwing up his arms. “You know it was how many dark emotions this man had, especially for his son, blaming the child for his mom’s death. Interesting way she died, y’know. Stuck to the ceiling almost by _magic_ and burned alive in her baby’s nursery.”

“A demon killed Mrs Lahey?”

Mr Lahey’s smile grew viciously bigger and more manic. “The big guy did it,” he said. “You two share something in common. He kills mothers; you killed your own .”

Stiles bit down on his lip, his insides twisting in rage.

“Oh,” he cooed. “Did I make the Prince of Hellfire sad? Do you need a tissue? You look like you’re gonna cry …”

Stiles pulled in a sharp breath and clenched his fists.

“You know maybe you should join the beating sessions I have with my _son_ ,” he spat out the word. “It’d be great fun. I’m sure you have fun pulling off the limbs off of ‘innocent’ animals.”

 _“Actually no,”_ Stiles said coolly, standing firm and strong. A sweet, intoxicating heat ran through his blood, flowing to the veins in his hands. Mr Lahey faltered, noticing the change in Stiles. The room dimmed over in darkness, mirroring the endless black of Stiles’ eyes. The familiar roar of fire – Stiles’ fire – was heard and the only source of light left in the room was the burning bright crimson Hellfire in his hands.

“And you won’t have to bother with Isaac anymore,” he informed the possessed human. “I’m never let you go near him ever again …”

Stiles aimed his fire at Mr Lahey,”his fire pushing him to the wall, nearly knocking him unconscious. He was still in a daze and terribly weak-looking. Stiles took advantage of it, willing his fire to wrap around his wrists and bind to whatever nearest furniture there was.

 _“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,_ ” he started. _“omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…_ ”

The words burned Stiles as well, tasting like acid on his tongue but he willed himself to together. Mr Lahey’s body started to convulse the more Stiles spoke. Foaming black smoke. Stiles read about this. It was the demon leaving Mr Lahey’s body. Stiles glimpsed at what was Mr Lahey’s soul. He was a broken man long before the demon had entered his body. Even if the demon had left, he would still hurt Isaac.

 _“You’ll never escape the clutches of Hell, O Prince of Hellfire._ ” The demon told Stiles through Mr Lahey.

Stiles only glared and finished off the verse. _“Benedictus deus. Gloria patri.” Blessed be God. Glory be to the Father._ “Sayonara, sucker.”

Black ashy smoke quite literally vomited out of Mr Lahey’s mouth, seeping in through the cracks in the floorboards, taking whatever express train was available back to hell. Stiles lost strength in his legs but soon something furry caught him.

His pet demon cat, Chessie, had grown in size and appearance. She was as tall and long as a grizzly bear, her tails curled at the end and her patches of grey were now streaked. Her fangs and wild red eyes were by far the most frightening things about her. She eyed Stiles and then turned Mr Lahey, snarling angrily.

“Hey,” he called out softly, drawing her away from her glare. Honestly he wasn’t at all surprised that his cat could monster out. She was a bit late though. If she had been here earlier, maybe Stiles could have avoided the fight. “It’s okay. Can you get out of here?”

The monster cat bowed her head and lowered her body to a height that Stiles could get on easily. There were footsteps and hurried voices approaching the house. Faintly, Stiles caught the scent of wet dog and cringed. He gingerly climbed onto Chessie, finding a steady grip.

“Let’s go,” he said.

The cat growled – quite unappreciatively loud – and phased through the wall of the house like a ghost to the outside. Chessie used a nearby roof – it was Jackson’s; he’d recognized douchebag-y and rich anywhere –, soaring into the sky as she was a bird without wings.

Stiles was in disbelief. He had never been on planes before. His mom preferred road trips than being in the air. Beacon Hills was so minuscule, so freaking tiny. The wind seemed to whistle around them as they flew. He never realized how small it was until now, flying on his demonic cat from Hell. Wow, that sounded weird.

Chessie eventually landed, having taken Stiles to their Den instead of his house or Scott’s. He was past caring and made his way down the staircase with Chessie who shrunk back to normal size, heading to the box car. He collapsed on the make-shift bed he made, Chessie curling up on his side.

Whatever crap was going on tonight, he could deal with tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One eventful morning will change what Stiles thought of one Isaac Lahey.   
> One meeting can lead to hopeless pining and inappropriate thoughts.   
> One dream can lead to a life-changing decisions.

“Aww, you two are so cute.”  


Scott had his arms wrapped protectively around Isaac in his bed, sleeping peacefully until the impish voice of Stiles ‘Son of Satan’ (as his classmates would call him sometimes) Stilinski drew them away from their slumber. Most nine-year-olds had teddy bears to help them sleep at night, Scott and Isaac had each other. It didn’t feel gross or yucky because they both felt comfortable with it.

Scott forced his eyes wide open and tumbled off the bed, taking Isaac down with him. Stiles burst into hysterical laughter as the two boys fumbled to get a grip. It was early morning on a Saturday, no school and they had the whole day to themselves.

“Dude!” Scott cried, much to the amusement of Stiles. “S’at naw cool.” What was worse was that Stiles had a Polaroid camera, flapping a recently developed picture in his hand.

Stiles only smirked and poked his tongue out. Now at nine years old, he was short for his age, dark shaggy brown hair that was untamed on his head and skin dotted with moles. He was the type of kid that people would say ‘would grow into his looks’ when really they were saying he was ugly but maybe he would be lucky in the future.

“Mornin’ Stiles,” Isaac yawned, not too angry with the boy. Isaac had a bit of a hero complex for Stiles ever since he and Scott saved him from his abusive dad meaning Isaac could never get angry at Stiles. 

Scott awkwardly blushed. They seemed to take the blanket down with him and now it was draped adorably over Isaac. Both Scott and Stiles agreed that Isaac had the looks of an angel. Scott was more at ease and still was more panicked whenever Isaac was around, for some reason.

“Mornin’ Zac,” Stiles replied. “I made pancakes downstairs. Scott, your mom went to work.”

“Pancakes!” Scott beamed. “Awesome sauce!” Scott helped Isaac up and they both raced downstairs to the kitchen where pancakes were awaiting them.

 

The three boys were watching X-Men cartoons in the lounge room. Because Scott seemed to go crazy with the maple sauce ( _“Scott, it’s called maple_ syrup,” Stiles would correct Scott every time he said that), he had been exiled to the coffee table while Stiles and Isaac ate their breakfast on the couch. Wolverine was beating up the big fat guy called the Blob with his super sharp metal claws, in his black and yellow jumpsuit. Scott had always liked the Wolverine. He was cool and tough, just like Scott wanted to be.

Because Scott was asthmatic and an overall useless friend, being cool and tough were off the cards. Stiles had been tough, without the cool part, twice; at his mom’s funeral and the other time when they were rescuing Isaac from Mr Lahey.

Isaac was now a permanent resident at the McCall house for three years, living as Scott’s adoptive brother after his dad was convicted to _twenty-four_ years behind bars for a bunch of legal stuff that was too complicated to say.

“Hey,” Scott wondered aloud. “What would it be like if we had powers?”

Stiles instantly answered, “Our lives would be infinitely more complicated and turned upside down.” He was the kind of kid that had a vocabulary way too big for his own age.

“But cool!” Isaac piped up. “I mean you can do stuff with the power of your mind –”

“Telekinesis? The ability to move things with your mind?” Stiles interrupted him. His eyebrows were furrowed and he studied Isaac. Isaac was quiet. “I dunno. Pyrokinesis has always been my kinda thing. Blowing up things, setting things on fire …”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Dude, I am scared for your sanity.”

“I’ll have you know that I am perfectly sane, McCall!” Stiles indignantly huffed, offended by the comment. “I have also been checked out by a psychologist and grief councillor by the decree of John Stilinski – who is also my dad. In fact you can take me to a shrink right now and all I would be diagnosed with would be ADD and the inability to shut up.”

Isaac groaned, dropping his plate on the floor and clutching his head. His face was contorted in pain and he was rocking in his seat. “ _Uggh_!” he moaned. “Too. Loud. Hurts.”

“Isaac?” Stiles asked, who hadn’t seen the boy like this. Scott had. Rarely. Isaac had these attacks when he would hear things in his head that were too loud for him. Isaac squirmed in his seat, curling up into a ball, making ragged choking noises. The furniture around them started to rattle, vibrating and shaking as if there was an earthquake going on. Farther off, there were the sounds of pots and pans falling to the ground and glass shattering on the floor. 

This had never happened before.

“Isaac!” Scott cried, throwing himself around the boy and hugging him. Scott stroked his hair and held him close. _“Shh, shh, shh,”_ Scott tried to remember what his mom did for him when he had a nightmare. “There, there, it’s okay. There, there.”

Isaac slowly started to stop quivering under Scott’s grasp and hugged the boy back tightly. Every inanimate object ceased movement and everything went back to normal.

“Right so,” Stiles started, breaking the silence. “That happened.”

After cleaning up the house, sweeping away the glass and putting the pots and pans back to their respective places in the kitchen, the three boys gathered in Scott’s bedroom, sitting on Scott’s bed. Isaac was huddled up against the headboard, holding the black teddy Scott had got him for his seventh birthday close to his chest.

Stiles was surprised at first, seeming to babble on about the whole experience, settling into a cool sort of comforting calm when he realized Isaac’s nervousness.

“Sometimes it gets a little loud for me,” Isaac explained. “I can hear voices but no one is speaking and it’s too loud like I’m in a crowded room full of people talking. I wanna do what Stiles did on the first day of school and run away sometimes but I can’t.” Stiles hummed in agreement and nodded. “There are times I can move stuff, y’know, without touchin’ it. The night you guys saved me … I broke all the glass and plates with my mind and my dad went mad.” Isaac shuddered and buried his teddy bear close to his chest.

Scott, feeling sympathy for the boy, hugged Isaac. Maybe powers weren’t as cool as he thought he was. Stiles was oddly quiet to all of this. Stiles also gave Isaac a hug and acted like a mom did when their kid was sick.

“So my best friend is telepathic _and_ has telekinesis,” Stiles stated. “It doesn’t make you a monster, Zac. It makes you unique.”

“How do you know that?” Isaac dubiously asked of Stiles.

Stiles grinned widely like his weird two-tailed cat Chessie did sometimes. “I have secrets of my own too, y’know,” was all he said.

 

“I don’t care how the cat feels,” Deputy Stilinski gritted out. “It’s going to the vet’s.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and snorted derisively at his dad. He crossed his arms, hoping to look formidable. Sadly, it wasn’t working out all too well. “Dad,” he tried to reason with his father. “Chessie is smarter than you think. There has to more a believable reason that she is glaring at you like you killed her kitten other than almost running her over with your patrol car once.”

Stiles was spending his Sunday, a day after the whole Isaac Has Psychic Powers event, arguing that Chessie, a demon cat from Hell who couldn’t catch illnesses or infections, did not need to go to the animal clinic. Said demon cat from Hell was lounging on his dad’s armchair, flicking its two tails sassily.

Deputy John Stilinski was not at all a fan of Chessie the cat sídhe and the feeling was mutual. His dad had never been a fan of cats. It took a lot of begging and puppy faces from both Stiles and Claudia to convince him to let the cat stay.

“No, she isn’t,” he denied flat out. Stiles raised an eyebrow and glanced back to Chessie who was heatedly regarding the deputy.

“Yeah, she is.”

“Cats love me, Stiles.”

There was a choking hairball sound coming from Chessie. Stiles smirked back to his dad.

“Yes,” he replied sarcastically. “I can see that. Cats worship the very ground you walk on. O praise the Lord of Kittens! Praise him!”

His father stared back in a deadpan. Stiles stared back. Two could play this game and with his inhuman abilities, he could easily win. This went on for a few more seconds. His father’s right eyes began to twitch. Stiles’ expression was cool and composed.

His father blinked. Sucker! “The cat’s going to the clinic. She’ll get sick,” he stated.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Dad,” Stiles groaned. “Chessie, c’mon, we’re taking a walk.” He turned towards the door, Chessie leaping off her spot on the armchair to follow her master obediently. Without so much as saying another word, Stiles left the Stilinski house, demon cat pet walking beside him as they began their weekly stroll through town.

Chessie was an active creature and needed to get out a lot. Ever since Stiles discovered his cat could grow big and _fly_ , they had been going out more often. Only at night though where almost no one could see them. Today was one of their rare day excursions. They stuck to a dark, shady and possibly dangerous route through the alleys and trees of Beacon Hills. Stiles talked for the most part while Chessie responded with looks and feline growls. Sometimes Stiles questioned her loyalty: him or his demon father.

Ah yes, Stiles’ half-demon heritage. How could he ever forget that he had fire powers, enhanced super senses and psychic vampirism? Never. It was a good thing that Beacon Hills was never much of a cess pool of negative emotions or the levels of pain and misery might have driven him mad a long time ago. Stiles still had no idea who his demon father was and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer to that.

Perhaps if his super senses were being useful and Stiles was paying attention to whatever was around, _maybe_ he could have avoided the hard basketball that practically slammed onto the side of his head, knocking him to the ground.

“Oh shit!” Someone hissed. Stiles’ vision was blurry, hazing together and his head was dizzy. Stiles righted himself into a sitting position, soon finding his balance again when his half-demon healing kicked in.

Chessie was snarling viciously at whoever threw the ball, threatening to supersize herself and go wild. Stiles stroked her fur, willing her to calm down. The cat did so, only toning down her snarl into a glare. 

Stiles looked up to whoever hit him. Holy crap. What angel came down from Heaven and decided to live on Earth ‘cause he was _hot_ – verily unfairly _hot_. The guy was built like a freakin’ Roman god, chiselled features and all, with thick eyebrows and hazel green eyes along for the ride. He was wearing a basketball uniform that was showing off his great muscles.

Wasn’t Stiles a little too young to have these sorts of thoughts? Oh, that was … _creepy_.

“H-Hi,” Stiles squeaked from his spot on the floor. He noticed the ball rolling next to him and picked it up. “Is this your crazy rogue basketball by any chance?”

“Yeah,” the big kid answered, taking the ball from Stiles. “Sorry. I wasn’t watching –”

“You smell like a dog,” Stiles blurted out unintentionally. The big kid stiffened uncomfortably, holding onto his basketball so tight that – claws? Wait, no, perfect _human_ hands – would deflate the ball. “No, not that it’s a bad smell. I smell bad too.”

“Yeah.” The big kid shook his head and stared wide-eyed at Stiles like he was a weird creature he had never seen before. “Like fire and sulphur.”

It was Stiles’ turn to stiffen. He gulped, trying to hide his sudden nervousness and clammy hands. He was acting like how a human would when they were hiding their secret: an inability to speak, sweat forming on the skin and pinched expressions.

“Moving from the topic of body odour,” Stiles changed the topic swiftly, producing a casual demeanour. “Help me up. The floor is not a nice place to sit. There’s dirt and gravel and the natural coldness, oh and what about the germs? Eew! The germs! Help me up! Help me up!”

The guy scowled at Stiles. “At least we won’t have to worry about a concession if your mouth is working.” He dropped his basketball, leaning over to manhandle Stiles. Like literally manhandle. He put his hands under Stiles’ and lifted him off the ground, holding him up as if he was a child. Okay, _technically_ he was but mentally he had to be like what? Fifteen? Sixteen?

Chessie hissed at the big guy, her hackles rising in distrust.

“Your cat doesn’t look happy with me,” said the big kid. He was still carrying Stiles in his hands. Stiles’ eyes flickered to his hand, silently telling her to calm down. “She has two tails. That’s … not normal.”

“Says the guy who smells like a dog,” Stiles retorted. If Chessie is protecting him like 25% of the time, the least Stiles could do in return was to defend her honour. “I’m Stiles, by the way. And you can put me down now. I am _not_ a baby.”

“Oh, I’m –” The guy started to say.

 _“DEREK!”_ A girl shrieked not too far away. It was easy to look over _Derek’s_ shoulder since he was carrying Stiles and see who it was that scream his name. It was an older girl, with the messy black hair and hazel eyes, wearing a leather jacket. Unfortunately, she’s hot as well. She ran up to them. The girl raised her eyebrow when she was Stiles being carried by the boy she apparently knew.

“Laura,” Derek sighed irritably. “What is it?”

“Nice to see you too,” Laura quipped sarcastically. “Who’s this?” She pointed at Stiles.

“Hi, I’m Stiles. _Derek_ ,” he drawled pointedly, “is not letting me down for some reason. Also he hit me with a freaking basketball. And I think I have a headache so Derek should get me an ice cream or something.”

“Aren’t you the deputy’s kid?”

“I am.” Stiles nodded. “Derek, please put me down.” Derek released Stiles, dropping the younger boy unceremoniously on the ground. Stiles landed on his feet like a cat and threw an unimpressed frown to the scowling older boy. “ _Gently._ I was going to say put me down gently.”

“He has a habit of being rude with everyone,” Laura informed him.

“I can see that. I’m sorry but does he always have this constipated look on his face when he’s annoyed?”

“Yeah, he kinda does.”

“I do not!” Derek hissed, snarling at the two of them – wait, _three_ of them. Chessie was smirking at Derek. Pet from Hell or not, Chessie was practically like a living person. Stiles snorted. Inwardly, he cringed, the air smelling heavily of dog. He noticed Chessie glowering at Laura and Derek in a threatening manner. She never did that without good reason.

“Well, I best be going,” Stiles announced. “There’s cat walking to do and rogue basketballs to avoid. Pleasure to meet you both Derek and Laura …”

“Hale,” Derek supplied curtly. “It’s Derek and Laura Hale.”

“Hale,” Stiles added.

“There’s a basketball game next week at BHHS on Saturday morning,” Derek told him stonily. Stiles was good at sports , well technically it was pretending to completely suck at sports so he could be last picked and warm the bench while the others ran and got sweaty and hot. Basketball was a sport Stiles liked to observe, not play. “You could come if you want and bring a few others if you want.”

There was a silence following. Was he expecting Stiles to answer? Jackson would so be jealous of him. A bigger kid – wait, sorry. Stiles just got sick of the term ‘big kid’ now. A _cooler, older dude_ was asking him to a basketball game.

“Um, yeah, sure,” Stiles said, unsure. “I’ll – err – come, Derek.” Stiles could feel his cheeks warming up. Wait, was he blushing? Stiles hadn’t blushed about anything unless it was about the amazing Lydia Martin who he was sure wasn’t completely human. At least when she screamed. Ear drum shattering danger there.

There was the barest hint of a grin before Derek smothered it down. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.” Another awkward silence that had his heart beating too hard. It was kind of hard to concentrate with Derek Hale being all hot and handsome. Chessie, bless her damned soul, had the grace to snap Stiles out of it, using his leg as a temporary scratching post, raking her really sharp over his shins. Stiles winced and cursed under his breath.

“Fine, you little demon,” huffed Stiles, turning away from the two Hales and started to walk. “You want your walk, we’ll take your walk.”

It wasn’t until that Stiles was down the street and turning down a dark alley that he heard the voices of Derek and Laura Hale. He wondered if his mom would be proud of him being able to control his enhanced demon senses so perfectly.

 _“Derek, your cheeks are red.”_ Laura told Derek in a teasing voice.

There was a sputtering noise following the comment and Derek’s high hiss of, _“They are not!”_

_“Derek, he’s like ten or something. You’re fifteen. Excuse me but that’s a little, well let’s say, creepy.”_

_“Laura, get your mind out of the gutter,”_ snapped Derek sharply. Derek is right. There’s no way that Derek could have on someone he just met, Stiles no less. Too bad it wasn’t the same for Stiles. Derek was quite … what’s the word beautiful for guys? Hot? Sexy? Okay, when Derek got older, for sure he would be hot _and_ sexy. For now, he was cute just like several other good-looking teenage guys all over the world.

 _Meow!_ Chessie meowed. Stiles looked down to the kitten-sized cat.

“What?” he asked.

Her eyes were directed at the top of his head. _“Meow!”_ she meowed once more, only a little louder. She was trying to tell him something. Stiles checked what she was looking at which seemed to be a bit of boring dirty alley wall. She hissed, almost exasperated, eyes shining at his hair.

Stiles’ gingerly placed a hand on his hair and when he pulled it back to check on it, there were tendrils of fire – his Hellfire – curled around his hand. Oh crap. Stiles checked his reflection in the water. His hair was on fire! Stiles ran his hands his hair, trying to put it out. It was only a few seconds later when his hair was all messy that it was back to sort of normal.

“What the hell?” he mumbled. He silently thanked whoever was listening that there was nobody to see him and his hair on Hellfire. Usually his need to selfishly protect the people he cared about was his trigger for his Hellfire. Stiles chalked up to the changes in his body that was the cause of his. After all, he was nearly a teenager – _nearly._

 

“Why are _we_ here?” whined Scott as he, Isaac and Stiles took their seats on the corner of the highest basketball benches inside the basketball court. Apparently the game Derek had invited Stiles along to was sort of a big deal. It was the state finals between Beacon Hills High School basketball team against the five-years-in-a-row state champions Morning Falls varsity basketball team.

“’Cause,” Stiles shrugged, popping a curly fry in his mouth. “I wanted to see the State Finals.”

“No, you don’t,” Scott argued. “You hate basketball and you hate the big kids, especially the ones in high school! Tell him, Isaac!”

Isaac, who hadn’t been listening for the last thirty seconds, let out a confused, “Ummm, why are we here again? All I got was ‘Guys, we’re going to see the basketball game at the high school’ from you and that was that.”

Stiles groaned, stuffing another curly fry in his mouth bitterly. “ _Fine,_ ” he moaned vehemently. “I’ll tell you why we’re really here.” The basketball team for Beacon Hills got out on the court, doing a little a warm-up game involving throwing the ball to each other and methodically working their way up to fake-scare in the net. Stiles saw Derek, dribbling the ball up the court, once again in his basketball uniform. Again, total hotness.

A sly smirk formed on Stiles’ lips. “Eye candy.”

Scott gaped at Stiles in disbelief. “You have to be kidding me,” he groaned. “Stiles, no offense. You. _Suck_.”

“Suck what exactly?” Something like that was a little old and suggestive for a nine-year-old. Scott pulled a _what_ face as did Isaac, both had no idea what Stiles was suggesting. One day either when they were sitting The Talk with Mrs McCall or having Sex Ed in school, they’ll understand. For now, they could enjoy their innocence.

The game started. Morning Falls had a pretty good start to the game, weaving around Beacon Hills expertly, scoring two goals for in the first ten minutes. Beacon Hills weren’t at all bummed by that fact. Every player kept glancing to Derek who nodded back. _Oh I see,_ Stiles realized. _Derek’s their secret weapon_. The game went on and the supporters for Beacon Hills shouting out for their team to get a grip and then winning.

After thirty more minutes of sucking (in the game sense mind you) and score of MF 28 to BH 16, a half time break was called. Stiles caught the few disappointed mutters of parents. Clearly they had seen their sons play better than this. Off to the side, Stiles could see Morning Falls revelling in what seemed like their predestined victory while Beacon Hills conspired in the corner, talking in low voices. Stiles strained hard enough to hear the coach say to Derek _“Take them down hard, Hale_.”

After Scott ranted how lacrosse was so much better than basketball and that this was completely boring, the break was over, the game was back on. Derek started off in the centre of the court, facing off against a bigger and muscly blond guy clearly on steroids. In fact, all of the Morning Falls were on steroids from Stiles could sense about their blood. Oh God. Stiles discovered another one of his powers – the ability to sense impurity in blood. _Great_.

 He could see the nervousness in Derek’s face and how tense the dog-smelling basketball player was. “Oh to hell with his,” Stiles muttered and then got off his seat, holding his hands to his mouth and hollered out at the top of his lungs, “WHOOO! GO DEREK! KICK THEIR ASSES!”

It just had to be his luck that the court fell silent at Stiles’ cheer and there were a _lot_ of curious gaze turning to the young boy, including Scott who quietly started to snigger and Derek which made it all the more worse. Stiles’ cheeks burned again. Great. Derek seemed shocked to see Stiles at the benches, round-eyed showing the green of his irises. Stiles did what he was thought was appropriate and waved to him.

Derek broke off in a wide goofy grin that showed off his dazzling white teeth. Holy – wow, that was … Just wow. Stiles’ heart might skipped a beat there and Stiles smiled back to Derek. Derek turned back to the bigger blond guy. Stiles turned on his super hearing.

“Looks like you have a fan, Hale,” Big blond guy taunted. “Brainwash them young, eh? Or is it … _something else_?”

Was it just Stiles or did Derek’s eyes glowed ice blue all of a sudden? “You shouldn’t have said that,” Derek bit out and then smiled wolfishly. “You’re in the doghouse now.”

That was when Morning Falls started to _fall_ behind. Derek all of a sudden turned into Beacon Hills’ salvation, zipping away with the ball, easily dodging the opposition and – SLAM DUNK! The first slam dunk was a message for the other team: _Dear Morning Falls, you’re screwed._ It was a beautiful massacre. Beacon Hills depended on Derek scoring and scoring and scoring and mopping the floor with Morning Falls. In the last three seconds of the game, Laurent – a Beacon Hills player – passed the ball to Smith who passed to Johnsons and finally threw to Derek for the Beacon Hills Knight to do the most incredible lay-up Stiles had ever seen and scored just as the buzzer went out.

Everybody – or at least the people who supported Beacon Hills – got up and cheered. Stiles was ecstatic. Never had he so much thrill from watching a game of sports. Even Scott was standing up, throwing insults to Morning Falls. The Beacon Hills team gathered around Derek, patting him on the back and practically worshipping him.

For a moment, Derek found Stiles in the crowd. Stiles felt red and hot all of a sudden. He was worried if his Hellfire accidentally came out. Stiles nervously ruffled his hair and smiled. Derek looked away, attention turned back to the great victory of Beacon Hills’ basketball team.

 

“Well, that was fun!” chirped Stiles happily, popping the last (cold but hey still good) curly fry in his mouth before chucking it in a bin … and narrowly missing by one centimetre. Luckily there was no one there to scold the boy. He was walking by the front of the high school a while after the game. There were a lot of songs, a lot of cheering, a lot of pre-partying, a lot of trash talk, just your regular high school celebrating that they won the state finals. His words fell on deaf ears because Scott and Isaac were walking ahead of him in close proximity while in their own little world.

They did that sometimes. It would be like they were the only two people existing in the world around them, not caring for it and were on a different zone for a few minutes. In fact, a lot of people did that. Perhaps it was Stiles who was just in a different world. He was a half-demon. He would never be like Scott or Isaac or Derek. Stiles the-half-demon-who-killed-two-people Stilinski who would never truly be human: it summed up his life in a nutshell.

A car was heading towards Scott and Isaac who stood in the path of the vehicle, blissfully unaware that a mean-looking four-wheel-drive was zooming right towards them and laughing. Stiles reacted on instinct.

Okay, now he may or may not have used his half-demon speed to close them distance between him, Scott and Isaac and push – yes, he freaking pushed them – and _maybe_ once he did, he relaxed at the wrong moment for they were out of harm’s way and Stiles wasn’t  so … Stiles got ready to escape when –

“NO!” Isaac screamed and the car was forcefully thrown back, slamming into the automobile behind it. Thank God or Satan for telekinetic powers.

The car driver that the four wheel drive drove into came of his car, immediately swearing and burning with impotent rage. “What the hell, asshole?” he screamed at the driver. It’s a cacophony of screaming, beeping, cursing.

Stiles quickly picked himself up and went to the obviously shaken Isaac and the surprised Scott. Wordlessly, he directed them away from the scene, trying not to attract any attention to themselves. What if someone saw Isaac using his powers? No matter, Stiles could lie and protect him. Stiles thought of a dozen scenarios, coming up with smooth lies to help them out.

“D-did I …” Isaac stuttered.

“Yep,” Stiles interjected. “Pretty cool except you might have killed someone.”

“What?!” Isaac was dismayed and … yeah, scared. Of himself. Stiles could relate to that.

“But Isaac won’t kill anybody, right?” Scott nervously piped up. “He’s not like that. Isaac isn’t a killer.”

“I know he’s not. It’s – look I understand this superpowers thing myself,” Stiles explained. “Without training, something could go wrong … and you can’t lock what you are up and you can’t ignore the fact you’re different, all you can do is deal with it. Trust me when I say hiding from what you are isn’t the best option. You need to learn how to balance both sides of yourself so you won’t hurt the people you care about.”

Scott and Isaac stare back at Stiles in stunned silence. It was quite a speech for the supposedly talkative, young and naïve Stiles to make. Stiles was sure they were re-evaluating how they viewed him forever. Stiles had to help Isaac somehow. Stiles had his fire powers down mostly. Maybe it could be the same for Isaac’s psychic powers.

Later, the three were standing in front of the derelict and run down entrance to Stiles’ Den. Stiles was still nervous to show them this. It was almost like telling them his darkest secret … which he wasn’t going to tell them about in maybe _never_.

“What is this?” Scott asked.

“Just shut up and follow me,” Stiles told the boy. “It’s not safe to tell you out here.”

Scott winced at Stiles’ tone, unused to this other nature of his friend. To be honest, Stiles was still dealing with his demon side – or was it his adult side? Isaac was regarding with something akin to fear, wariness and surprise all mixed together. Stiles took the first step, stepping through the dark mouth of the old subway station and descending down the stairs.

He can hear Scott and Isaac asking questions even if they don’t say it, sensed their uneasiness and curiosity – super senses giving him the normal TMI. Once Scott and Isaac had descended to level of the Den, Stiles using his supernatural weirdness turned the room pitch black, leaving his friends in complete and utter darkness. Another half-demon ability of Stiles: night vision.

“Stiles!” Scott called out. Scott was always afraid of the dark. “Where are you? Dude, this is _not_ funny okay!”

The sound of fire being lighted filled the room and the wicks of all the wax candles Stiles had bought over the years were ignited with red fire. Scott jumped in alarm as Isaac reflexively clung to him, obviously startled.

They found Stiles at last, sitting on the top of the subway train carriage, legs spread and fire licking from the side of his face stretching to his hair, smirking cockily. His amber brown were black in the light and he reminded them of the evil demon child from horror movies they had glimpsed but hadn’t fully seen.  

“Stiles?” said Scott, laced with apprehension.

“I may have neglected to mention before,” Stiles told him, eyes gleaming in the darkness, “I have fire powers.”

 

“Sometimes I wonder why I even hang out with you guys?” Scott grumpily said. “I’m capable of getting better friends than you two.”

It had been few months since Stiles and Isaac revealed that they had powers. There was a tiny part of Scott that was jealous. Isaac could do things with his mind and Stiles could set things on fire. Scott was the non-special asthmatic who sucked at everything. Isaac hadn’t gone really far with his powers. Apparently it had taken him six months for him to find a trigger for his powers and an anchor on control. When he did find his trigger and his anchor, he wasn’t telling Scott. Whenever he asked, Isaac would hide into himself, cheeks flushed, while Stiles smirked knowingly.

Scott pouted, sitting on a chair in _their_ Den, moaning about his once favourite green hoodie – which was completely ugly by the way – now singed and burnt beyond all recognition _accidentally_ by Stiles.

“Oh yes,” drawled Stiles. “I’m sure Jackson would be happy to have you in his group of friends.”

Scott jutted out his jaw and chose not to say anything to that. Isaac was staring fixated on the jacket, madly concentrating before sighing heavily and slumping onto Scott’s lap tired. Scott’s heartbeat increased in speed and his cheeks burned. He was glad that the colour of his cheeks weren’t visible in the light of the room.

“Psychic abilities are a lot harder to train than pyrokinesis, Isaac,” Stiles informed him. “You should try levitating things that have a lighter mass like pencils or paper clips.”

Stiles had become Isaac’s unofficial psychic teacher even though he had fire powers. He had done a lot of research and studying into psychic abilities for Isaac and had been trying to be the best teacher he could for the boy. It was clear to deduce that Stiles hadn’t been the healthiest person lately. His skin was paler and there were dark baggy spots under his eyes. His hair was askew and messy; like the rest of his appearance lately.

Scott wanted to ask what was wrong. Whenever he did, there was something keeping him down – a fear that instilled him. Stiles had to be the scariest person he knew. He knew that underneath his jokes and half-assed smiles, there was something he was hiding.

Stiles’ head jerked up all of a sudden. “I remember. I have something to do,” he announced, making his way across the den to the stairs. “Don’t break anything and don’t touch my stuff!” Stiles disappeared once he reached the top and closed the door softly behind him.

 

Stiles had been no stranger to kissing. Well, kinda. He was clearly not a qualified expert on kissing. Danny Mahealani from Hawaii had been the first guy to take his first kiss and vice versa. They kissed at his seventh birthday party in his bedroom where he was showing him his secret vintage record collection he inherited from his dead uncle. They were sprawled across his bed, Danny talking about vinyl records were one day going to make a comeback and the sunlight coming in through his window was making his skin shiny when Stiles moved in for the kill, pressing his lips against Danny. Danny was sort of still at first before he moved back against Stiles. They broke apart soon after and talk about it.

_(“Stiles, I think I like guys,” Danny had confessed. “But I don’t really like … I’m sorry but –”_

_“Don’t like me that way,” Stiles finished for him. “Sure, I understand. I completely get it. I haven’t grown into my looks yet. Just you watch. One day, I’ll be sexy.” Danny let out a laugh, heart beating rapidly. Stiles really didn’t feel all too bad. He felt the same way about Danny. He was cute but no potential. “Want another kiss?” he asked after a while. “You know … ‘cause getting kissed feels nice.”)_

And then …

Jackson the Jackass came in.

_(“Hey Danny, we were –”Jackson stopped. He had caught Stiles and Danny in lip lock, shyly brushing their lips. They quickly recoiled from each other, Stiles accidentally rolling off the bed and yelping. “What the fuck?”_

_Honestly. Where do kids learn this type of language nowadays?_

_Stiles, knowing that Jackson had a slight liking for Danny – No matter how straight Jackson seemed, it was blatantly obvious to Stiles –reacted, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at Jackson. Jackson, dazed – and Stiles may have put more strength than he would have liked to – stumbled backwards to the wall behind. Stiles laughed, kissed Danny once more and escaped out his bedroom window, running for his life to the Den.)_

Jackson had a grudge bent towards Stiles since then. Poor asshole didn’t realize he had a crush on Danny and kept chasing Lydia around like a puppy dog. It was really sad and hilarious to watch. Hilarious because Jackson looked stupid. Sad because Lydia was Jackson’s girlfriend.

The spectacle in front of Stiles was a different matter altogether. Two people – a slightly shorter and much younger guy pressed by an older and taller woman against a brick wall – were practically having dry sex in front of him. Stiles wondered if something like this was going to happen to him in the future. That curiosity soon became disgust when he recognized them.

It was Derek. Yes, dog-smelling, basketball-playing, adorably sexy Derek who was making out like it was the last day in the world with a blonde woman. Stiles felt a sick sensation in his stomach and a dark flame lighting inside him. Derek was one of the people who helped in their own special way in realizing that Stiles was bisexual. Not only that … Stiles held an indescribable adoration over him.

And there was Kate Argent. Stiles had seen the woman walk around town and she was a hot topic with high school boys. Stiles had always thought she was _off_. Off in a way that had his hackles rising and his demon senses buzzing madly. She was twenty-something, committing a crime at the moment and her family were hunters.

That was right. Hunters. As in the type of people who hunted supernatural creatures for a living. However they knew that not all supernatural creatures who evil and therefore held a code. There was a darkness that Stiles could see raging inside Kate’s soul that said she didn’t obey that code.

“When I heard something go bump, I didn’t expect an _ahh_ following it,” Stiles made his presence known. The two snapped away from each other. God this was his first kiss all over again. Only he was Jackson and Mrs Argent and Derek were him and Danny. “And I certainly wasn’t expecting to see statutory _rape_ going on.”

Shock was written all over Derek’s face. He didn’t expect Stiles to be here. Kate sneered at Stiles. “Beat it, kid,” she hissed.

“Kate –” Derek said but a look from Kate stopped him.

Stiles wasn’t at all fazed by that threat. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he replied coolly. “Was I supposed to take that seriously? Isn’t she a little old for you, Derek? I mean she’s hot and all but seriously, her? Kate Argent is a bit … well, she just doesn’t seem right for you at all if you ask me.”

Derek’s eyes widened almost comically. Kate started to get pissed at Stiles.

“Isn’t it a little past your bedtime, kid?” she asked snappily.

“Isn’t it a crime for a woman your age to be making out with a minor?” Stiles retorted immediately. “Look, you might wanna leave. I can hear police sirens and I don’t wanna explain to them why you’re with him. Not to mention, isn’t it past Derek’s bedtime as well? I mean, it’s ten o’clock at night.”

There was a pause in which nobody said anything. Kate regarded him like she was going to burn him alive. Stiles was close to burning the bitch alive, his demon side egging him on. Derek was caught in the middle of the fray.

“You better watch yourself, kid,” she threatened him. _Oh please,_ Stiles thought _, don’t make me laugh. Hunter or not … well, you’re sickening and so very much a demon, that’s all. I bet you know how to toy with people, use them and then throw them away_. _In fact, I bet you get a little kick out of it. The full euphoria comes when you spill blood. Tell me who’s the monster then? You or the things you’re hunting?_

“I’ve watched out for myself ever since my mother died, bitch,” responded Stiles. “And I’ve been watching the sins of the world, and adults particularly, even longer. Now please be off. You’re filling the place with the smell of skank and I don’t like it.”

Kate’s nostrils flared. “Derek?” she threw a questioning glance to the teenager. He took a single step away from her, staring at her like she was a monster. He had good reason to. Her darkness was dangerous for someone like Derek. He was a boy playing with a knife. It was cool to hold a knife however when he cut himself, it hurt. “Fine.”

And Kate turned away, scorned, stalking off into the night.

Derek watched her leave with a forlorn expression. Was he actually feeling regret? Whatever. Stiles didn’t want to be the one clearing up this idiot’s mess. Kate had a whole pick of small town boys and she chose Derek. She was an Argent, a family renowned for hunting werewolves, and Derek was a part of a family filled with dog-smelling members … who were recluses … and there were occasionally howls in the woods, more during the full moon …

Of fucking _course!_ How was Stiles so blind?! Derek was a freaking werewolf. One more reason Stiles had to be careful. Those momentary glowing blue eyes on the basketball court last year wasn’t a coincidence. Those were his werewolf’s eyes.

“Either you are the world’s luckiest idiot, or a hot guy Heaven is working against,” Stiles spoke. “Trust me when I say to _stay – away – from – her_.”

“It was wrong of me,” he said. “I should have gone with her. She could be –”

“Nice?” Stiles interrupted hm. “Different? Derek, I’m not like the rest of the sheep here. The wool isn’t covering my eyes. I have a knack for sensing the darkness in people’s souls and that woman’s filled with it.”

“She’s not like that,” argued Derek.

“That’s how people seem when they’re using other people. _They’re not like that._ At first they’re all nice and kind when they’re really leading you on and then when they get on, they drop you and you get _burned_.”

Derek was angry to this. Who was he to question the adoration he held for Kate Argent? “Oh please,” he scoffed. “What do you know of love?”

Oh wow. To think that Stiles actually cared for this idiot, to have a crush, to idolise and cheer him on at his basketball game.

“I know that it’s …” Shit. He wasn’t the most qualified person in the area to answer this question. “I don’t freaking know. I’m ten, you’re sixteen and she’s what like what – thirty or something? You look at her like there’s no jewel or beauty in the world compared to her. Does she look at you the same way back? Love is … trust – I think. I bet you spilled all your secrets but she hasn’t. Judging by your reaction earlier, you didn’t even know her last name.”

“Shut up, Stan!” Derek roared, blue eyes glowing at him.

Stiles glared at him incredulously for a moment. “My name’s Stiles, you pathetic asshole.” Deciding that said pathetic asshole was no longer worth his time, he sighed and walked away, merging with the shadows to fully disappear.

 

Stiles was standing at a crossroads in his dream. It was a dark abyss with a path forking in two separate directions weaved with shadows and mist. At one end were two graves – Stiles gave out a cry when he saw his father’s name inscribed on the stone, next to his mother’s – and at the other were multiple graves, all bearing the name of Hale.

There was thunder booming through the dream world that Stiles was in and then a voice, deep, all-knowing and _evil_ , spoke: _“O little Prince of Hellfire,”_ it taunted. _“Do you like games? Let’s play one! It’s called ‘One or the other’. It’s easy to play. All you have to do is choose. And whoever you choose gets to live! And whomever you don’t is dead.”_

This wasn’t a dream. This was a message – a warning. A nightmare about to come true.

“What if I don’t want to play?” Stiles asked, his voice shaky.

_“I’m afraid you don’t get much choice in the matter, little prince.”_

Stiles woke up a second later, screaming. He was in his makeshift bed inside the Den (again he ran I’m having a sleepover at Scott and Isaac’s excuse at his dad) where no one except his guardian cat could hear him having a nightmare. It was a pathetic excuse of a couch he stole off the street (free furniture! And yes Stiles did clean it before he used it – thoroughly) and placed blankets and pillows on it in the box car.

Chessie was on his lap in an instant, her two tails stroking his skin. Stiles tried to control his ragged breathing and calm himself. He had been having nightmares again. For the last month, he had been having nightmare after nightmare after nightmare, leaving him severely sleep-deprived and low on energy. It was affecting his ability to control his Hellfire in case he got angry or embarrassed and his usual day-to-day humorous façade.

Tonight was different.

He had two choices: save his dad or save the Hales.

Stiles tried to throw it off, think it nothing yet another silly nightmare. A small part of him believed that. There was a majority that was preparing himself to make a decision.

 

Stiles was staring blankly at the board, tuned out to the sounds of his history teacher  –he read the textbook and two other books detailing the civil war; he knew what exactly his teacher was going to say – and not saying a word, not even taking notes. Farther down back, he could hear Jackson bugging Scott and Isaac, five rows down from Stiles. From what Jackson was saying, it was very explicit.

He glanced sideways to Lydia, also bored, keeping herself entertained by checking her nails. Everybody thought she was just another beautiful dumb popular girl when she was a freaking Einstein who was one day going to get a Nobel prize for mathematics. She noticed Stiles watching at her and scowled inappreciatively.

He wrote down something in the margins of his notebook: _If I can drop modern and Archaic Latin, why the hell can’t I drop this?_

Lydia read the message, lips pursed, and replied, scribbling down in her notebook – _It’s required by the American education system to have history as a mandatory subject._

_Good point._

_You look like somebody who just lost their grandma and now resorts to watching movies all night and wearing distasteful clothing to cope._

_I wish I was._

Lydia scrutinized Stiles closely, her face mirroring something akin to concern. She turned away, focusing back on the incredibly boring history lesson. Stiles couldn’t blame her.

History sucked.

 

“Hey kid,” the sound of his dad talking to him, stopping Stiles halfway out the door. His grip tightened on the doorknob and he forced himself to look at his father. “Is everything alright with you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answered faintly, his voice almost inaudible. He put on his most believable smile and tried to look as casual and as normal as he could. _Make your choice!_ Something screamed in his head. _Make your choice, Prince of Helllfire!_ “I’m fine, why do you ask?”

“You’ve been … I dunno, out of it for the last few days,” John informed him. “You’re not eating as much and you’re rarely ever home except for dinner. Heck, I don’t even get to see you most days.”

“Well, that’s a fault on my part, I think,” Stiles said, scratching the back of his head. “I spend a lot of time with Scott and Isaac that I neglected you. Sorry, I’ll try to be home more often if that’s what you want, Dad.”

“Why are you acting like it’s your fault?” His father asked. Stiles shrugged. “Hey, come into the living room, I wanna talk to you.”

“Really? I have school soon and –” Stiles is cut off when he noticed the pleading look his father is giving him. “Yeah, sure,” he sighed.

Stiles made his way awkwardly over to the living room and sat uncomfortably on the couch. His dad sat across him, nervously holding his hands. His knuckles were white. Heart rate obviously increased but not so much that he was panicking or scared. The silence was too much for him.

“So,” his dad started. “I wanna talk about everything after … you know, the funeral.”

“Which was a few years ago,” Stiles added. His father frowned. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

“I just – I’m just really impressed with you. I was a complete mess after Claudia died you … but you … you pulled yourself through it all by yourself with no help whatsoever. Heck, you looked after me when it should have been the other way. I mean any child would be scared, hurt and tormented and you’re just like steel.”

 _Black steel and fire_ , the voice said in Stiles’ head.

“I did what I had to do, Dad,” Stiles told him. “Of course I grieved, so you can thank your lucky stars about  me not having some psychotic episode in school or something! Mom wouldn’t want me to be sad all the time. She’d want me to have a life.” _And keep my demon side a secret._ “She’d want you to live as well.”

“Yeah, she would, wouldn’t she?”

The topic of his mother had been untouched for so long. She was Stiles’ second murder. He had gotten over the guilt so long ago but this was digging old memories, old shame and guilt and self- _hate_. _Control the fire,_ he thought. _Control the fire._

“But this is no reason to drag skeletons out of the closet, is it?” Stiles said. “I don’t associate her name with sadness. I’ve cried about this before, I don’t have to start that old business again.”

His dad looked at him as if he’s a different person. Stiles knew he was one at times. “I’m sorry,” his dad said. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. Even when you were younger and with your mother most of the time. It was like you two were in your own world and I was here, facing reality.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. _Gee, sorry I never got to spend time with you because Mom was making sure I didn’t accidentally kill someone with my unnatural demon powers._ He could see how well that could end up. He risked glancing at his dad and saw that he was near-tears. Stiles felt no burning sensation of tears or lumps in his throat. He wasn’t crying. What was wrong with him?

Make your choice. Save the Hales or save his dad. If he chose his dad … they could actually get to know one another, to spend time with each other. Stiles didn’t even know how his parents met or his dad’s birthday.

Either way, he would feel the heavy weight of _murder_.

“I don’t hate you,” Stiles stated. “I love you. You’re the man who raised me for the better part of ten years. It can’t have been easy, living with a thi – with someone like me for four year after Mom’s death. You’re doing a good job …”

Tears were escaping John’s eyes.

“And I would really like to spend some more time with you. I always thought that the reason you weren’t around was because you were busy with work or … or …” _You hated me_. “Dad, I know you care and you have to know _I_ care too. I don’t hate you or anything of the sort.”

“Jesus, kid,” John muttered. “When the hell did you grow up?”

“When I realize that there were bigger problems and more important priorities in the world a few years ago,” Stiles smartly answered. He stood up. “Sorry, Dad. Gotta go now. You take care of yourself. Please, for me?”

“Yeah sure, kid.” John got off the couch and hugged Stiles. Stiles stiffened. The last time John had hugged him; it was years ago when he saved Isaac from his demoniacally possessed father and it was brief, short, just reassurance that the other was there. “You be careful too.”

“Yeah …”

His dad let him go after a while. They hadn’t said a thing between them. Their actions said it all. No words were required. Stiles and his dad were a-okay. No hate between them. Just an odd sense of friendship and trust.

_As if he could ever trust you._

Stiles walked to school, not taking the route that involved Isaac and Scott. There was an abominable heaviness in his chest that weighed him down. His muscles were tensed as if ready for a battle.  He strayed from the path leading to school. He hid himself in an alley. His breaths came out short and shallow as he gripped the wall for a sense of balance. Stiles’ head raced. There was one thing he was sure of for today.

Today was _the_ day he had to make the choice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review, kudo, bookmark? Go nuts, guys.


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